Cryptic Reasoning
by EbonyIvoryy
Summary: Edward was born to be a failure. His old man was one, and now, he was doomed to the same fate. That is what he kept on telling himself, even as he lifted his chin from the counter and requested another drink... Ed/Win; T for swearing and alcohol themes


**Disclaimer: **All rights go to Arakawa's brilliance, and Greg Laswell's lovely lyrics.**  
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**A/N: **I am admittedly proud of this one! :D It's kind of like a song fic, but not really. After listening to one of the most gorgeous songs ever, I had to do this. This story can take place in either series (2003/manga & brotherhood), but it would make more sense in the manga/brotherhood-verse, I suppose. I tried not to favor one over the other. Y'know. Make my Ed/Winry fics irreversible as far as universes go... If you want to know what song I used to play through this fic, it is "Off I Go" by Greg Laswell. T'was my inspiration. Enjoy~

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><p><strong><em>C r y p t i c R e a s o n i n g<em>**

**_~c~_**

Nights at the chateau — full of frivolous drinking, dancing, partying, and seducing — were always so full of life. Golden lamps lit the streets of Central; they hazed over that one building. So innocent it seemed, for it was merely a family-owned business. Of course, a brothel and bar was no place for innocence. In the middle of the chateau sat an old geezer, possibly a man of wealth. His pudgy cheeks and nose were pink with the same jolliness as Saint Nick... or more accurately, a drunken pig. His white hair was like snow flakes on his scalp; his black gentleman's hat covered the receding hair line. The geezer's eyes — pure black irises against the pearly whites that surrounded them, had a strange light to his perverted gawking. Surely he was well dressed, suited with a tuxedo and cane. That is what made him Madame's primary target: money, booze, and sex appeal mixed rather well. Thus, why he was surrounded by countless women, all dressed in tight corsets and stockings — faces coated in makeup. The ladies laughed and laughed around the circular wooden table. There was no end to their bellowing laughter. In fact, it was almost as if they were _forced _to laugh. Well, in a sense they were. The brothel workers were getting paid, after all.

At the corner of the chateau, was a few satin couches where more prostitutes sat and conversed. If they eyed a man of their desire (more specifically, their paycheck's desire), they would grab that man's hand and pull him into a private room.

The lights were dimmed in the building after midnight, to create a more erotic feel. Candles were the only things that provided a glow, set on various tables and hung on walls. In the bar section, Madame Christmas kept on glancing at a specific young man at the end of the counter. His eyes were hard, bitter, and cold; the topaz hue in them melted with the candlelight. His locks of amber hair, pulled into a tight ponytail, was most striking of his characteristics. The brown coat he wore now smelled of liquor, but then again, the entire chateau carried that smell. There was something familiar about him... She just couldn't put her finger on it.

"Hey," the young man groaned, his blank eyes suddenly turning to the bartender that was herself. "One mor' over here." His rough voice was just slightly slurring with intoxication.

Chris Mustang's thin scarlet lips were set into a frown as she poured more booze into the young man's glass. He nodded at her, his face hard to see through the shadowed lighting provided. Her frown grew as he swished down the alcohol in a pitiful manner.

There were many customers like him that would come to her bar, drinking with a grimace on their weary, pathetic faces. Even the dark circles under their eyes were apparent through the dim light. It was always the same story: their wife left them, they got fired from their job, or their in-laws were in town. However, what made this blond-haired lad stand out, was the fact that his story was different.

Madame Christmas leaned on her broad hip, her meaty arms folding across her chest as the thousands of bracelets dangled around her wrists. "You've been here for hours," she claimed to the young man, voice low as if it was a problem. "What's _your_ story."

The blond simply shrugged his broad shoulders, cracked lips resting at the rim of his glass. "I dunno. Jus' felt like I needed a drink," he stated, staring at the alcohol like a foreign object.

Edward Elric was never one for drinking. Though he had a rebellious spirit as a teenager, he didn't go through the typical rebellious stage that people of his age group normally did. There was no house to sneak out of, no need for alcohol to wash away his problems, no strive for smoking or sex, no school to flunk out of. Nope, he had his mind focused on other things back then. His goals were too big for the immaturity most teenagers possessed. Even when he was legally old enough to drink, he hardly felt the need to.

Nonetheless, tonight, booze was as holy to him as the God he didn't believe in.

_Damn._ The noise. So loud. The giggling of flirtatious women irritated him to no end. Not to mention the rich geezer who sat in the center of the room, cackling so hard it could give him cardiac arrest.

The strong odor of liquor and cigar smoke overwhelmed Edward's senses. He would have pinched his nostrils if he was sober. His flesh hand gripped his glass with a death drip, glaring down at the crisp golden liquid. Inhaling, he got himself prepared before he chugged down the rest of his beverage, bitter absinthe burning his throat.

He didn't seem to recognize Madame Christmas' eyes on him. He hadn't even taken notice that the bartender was General Roy Mustang's foster mother. Edward rested his square chin atop of the icy counter, shoulders slumping and eyelids shutting to block out everything around him. The ladies. The chateau owner. The pigs with lustful eyes, smoking their cigars only feet from where Ed was resided.

All of a sudden, one noise stopped it all. A piano played, each note flawless, shutting up everyone in the building. Edward's eyes cracked open, but he didn't bother to turn around in order to see who was playing such a beautiful tune. His vision was boring into the wall behind the counter, containing racks full of liquor bottles, including colorless pictures of Madame Christmas and a familiar raven-haired alchemist, decades younger.

But the former FullMetal Alchemist didn't see those pictures. His gaze went right through them. In fact, the sight of the dark mahogany wall soon turned into his mechanic. That _woman_. With her sunny locks of hair, dangling at her waist. Her porcelain skin. Those azure, ocean blinders. Her petite nose and full, baby doll lips. Her gentle-natured, yet calloused, grease covered hands.

The putrid stink of nicotine and absinthe turned into the wonderful aroma of daises and honey, with just a hint of grease and iron. He could still feel himself — burying his head into her perfect scalp, her perfect breasts.

Suddenly, a soft male voice accompanied the piano in the background:

"_Loose ends, they tangle down, and then take flight. But never tie me down. Never tie me down._"

Ed imagined himself. Lying on the grass in his hometown. The fresh breeze danced upon his skin, whispering in his ears. The sound of barely audible footsteps pranced closer to him, until a body plopped down beside him. His orbs opened. Before him, was the woman he grew up with, dressed in a flowing white sundress. Her plush mouth never ceased to smile at him. He couldn't see anything but happiness in those eyes.

Then, the bark of a dog. Den came frolicking through the field. She licked the sides of Edward's face, causing him to chuckle and attempt to pry the canine from his form. His mechanic laughed. Such a sound, whether Ed was over exaggerating or not, could be compared to a thousand violins, all corresponding with a perfect symphony.

"_Loose ends, they tangle down, and then take flight. But never tie me down. Never tie me down._"

Now, they were in a room. Located in a hotel, it seemed. Central, likely. Why they were there, Ed did not remember. All he could recall, was that they were sitting on a wine-colored bed, facing each other with a stern, serious countenance. Winry had a strange glint in her gaze... Each blue iris was soft, scared, nervous, and poignant. She spoke in a murmuring tone that was cautious, not to mention cryptic.

She bit her lower lip, before grasping his wrist and pulling it so that his hand met contact with her stomach. And then those words. _Edward... I'm carrying your child._

The young man snapped from his daydream. He was back to reality. Cruel, complicated reality. The wall blurred and the empty glass in front of his nose became clear.

"_Off I go... where I fall... is where I land._"

Just the thought of it. The thought of him, Edward Elric, a father. The FullMetal Alchemist, son of a bastard that left his wife and kids, now raising a child. Granted, no matter how much he hated to admit it, Ed was a lot like his father. The Xerxes blood runs strong. His golden hair, golden brows, golden eyes... They were all traits his father possessed. They were also traits passed down to both of his sons. Fortunately for Al, though, he obtained more of his mother than his father. Edward, on the other hand, was unfortunate as could be.

"_Off I go... where I fall... is where I land._"

The worst of the package? The worst of being so much like that bastard Hohenheim? Their mistakes. So similar, so selfish, so greedy. Hohenheim wanted things, but that only ended up with hurt of people around him. Loved ones. Edward did the same thing. He wanted to see his mother's smile one more time... To hear her voice. He tried to bring the dead back to life. And in result, he turned his beloved mother into a soulless thing... He nearly killed Alphonse, taking away his own brother's sense of humanity. And now, he hurt the love of his life. Winry Rockbell.

The voice faded out. The piano took over once again, playing a sweet solo.

How much more pain could he cause? If Edward made the same mistakes as his father, would that mean that he'd make a mistake in raising children too?

Drums began to pound, but did not drown out the wondrous piano.

Damn it. He couldn't become his old man. He couldn't become a shitty excuse for a father. No, he wouldn't burden Winry with that. She deserved better. Pregnant with his child or not, she deserved damn well better.

The words drifted back into the song:

"_Loose ends, they tangle down, and then take flight. But never tie us down. Never tie us down._"

Edward was born to be a failure. His old man was one, and now, he was doomed to the same fate. That is what he kept on telling himself, even as he lifted his chin from the counter and requested another drink.

"_Loose ends, they tangle down, and then take flight. But never tie us down. Never tie us down._"

While the young man was moderately sipping his drink, a few ladies took notice of him from across the room. One of them got up and walked toward him. She had voluminous waves of brunette hair, falling to her shoulders, while the plump crimson lipstick made her lips fuller than they naturally were. She had crystal blue eyes, so dull with any emotion but lust. Her mascara and eyeliner enhanced this feature. The girl had snow white skin, which contrasted perfectly with her silky pink corset, pushing up her chest with an impossible amount of cleavage. Lacy black stockings were worn on her slender, long legs, as her heels clanked across the mahogany floors.

"_Off I go... where I fall... is where I land._"

She crept up and sat on a stool next to him, leaning forward as her elbow rested on the counter. Ed didn't take notice.

"Hello, darling. You look so lonely here, by yourself," the brunette purred, leaning even closer.

He blinked, tilting his head just slightly as his honey orbs landed on her. Remaining silent, he shrugged for the second time that night. She continued to speak short sentences, getting no replies, so she rested a lingering hand on his thigh. He flinched, but didn't push her away.

"_Off I go... where I fall... is where I land._"

After minutes of questions and short answers, the brothel worker had given up. For the most part, anyway. She snaked both hands from behind him when she was about to leave, rolling her palms against his chest. Then, she whispered in his ear, "If you need pleasure, I'll be here, darling."

With that, she clanked her heels away, swaying her hips.

Once again, the words left the tune as the piano was now solo. It echoed throughout the chateau.

Edward let out a breath that he wasn't aware he was holding, staring impeccably at the half empty glass. His feelings were adamant toward women like her. What they did for a living...

But hey, everyone has their own story, right?

Their own story...

The faint sound of hums played alongside the piano's tune. It was almost eerie, but in an endearing and emotionally moving way.

Honestly, Edward wasn't as angry as used to be with Hohenheim. Especially after the man died, Ed has learned to forgive. Nevertheless, there was still a loathing grudge in the center of his heart that remained... It refused to go away. Even after visiting his dad's grave, time after time. Even after finally calling him "father" for the first time. Even after realizing that his mother Trisha wouldn't want him to feel hatred toward Hohenheim. That if she loved him, the least Ed could do is love him as well.

Hohenheim left his wife and kids because he was scared. He helped that homunculus in the flask because he wanted more to life than to just be a slave. No longer did he want to watch all of his loved ones go seven feet under before his very eyes. He didn't want his sons to look at him as a monster. A foul, wretched monster that was primarily kept alive by single crimson stone. Every time he looked at his skin, he must've seen all of those faces that were sobbing for the pain to stop. All of those familiar faces. Why didn't the suffering end? Why did they have to go through such horror for centuries? That bastard in the flask is why. Not Van Hohenheim; he isn't to blame.

These thoughts, flowing through Edward's pensive state, gave him hope. Sure, Winry deserved a lot. But did she deserve her baby daddy's abandoning? Did she deserve the punishment of raising a child alone? What kind of man was he? If Edward were to abandon that child now, he would be far more disgusting than Hohenheim ever was.

For God's sake, that baby was his own _blood_. The miracle of human production. _His _sperm and _her _egg. A mere seed sitting in Winry's womb, ready to blossom into a ravishing fetus. This wasn't alchemy — no, far from it. It was more intriguing, beautiful, and miraculous than transmutation circles could ever accomplish. For this was human life as we know it. Nothing on Earth was more astonishing than that.

Ed's spine jolted straight, his jerking posture gathering some attention in the building. A twinkling in his blinders arose wisdom and realization. _'What the hell is wrong with me?' _he thought, clenching his teeth.

He shuffled inside of his pockets, pulling out one-thousand cenz and slamming it to the counter with his palm.

"Keep the change," he added, getting an estranged look from the bartender. Madame Christmas was about to ask if he needed a cab, being that he may be too drunk to drive, but he waved her consent off and sprinted out the door; it wouldn't be a problem, anyway. Edward wasn't too drunk (surprisingly), nor did he have a car.

Once he was out of sight, Madame Christmas stared at the half-full glass of absinthe he left behind, and the shiny cenz stacked beside it.

Even as Edward exited the chateau, the harmonious piano and lyrics ran through his head. But instead, with every charging step down the streets of Central, the music became more powerful. The male singer went from soft to bursting with enthusiasm. Courage, almost. Additional instruments played in the tune to express the change in chorus.

_'Off I go!  
>Where I fall...<em>  
><em>...Is where I land!<em>'

Moonlight grazed each building. Edward was in the shadows one moment, and the next, he was beneath a glaring yellow street lamp. He always loved the lights in central. The only thing he adored more was the countless stars of a country sky. Maybe, someday, his child would be able to gaze up at them. Him and Winry would lay out a blanket on the moist grass, lie down in each other's arms, and in between them would be their toddler, while they all pointed at the various constellations.

_'Off I go!  
>Where I fall...<em>  
><em>...Is where I land!<em>'

Edward was practically panting once he pulled to a halt in front of the hotel. This very building was the place where he, Al, and Winry all stayed in their teenage years of looking for the Philosopher's Stone. It was the place where they dealt with the death of Maes Hughes. It was the place where Winry confided in Ed about her wanting to make a perfect apple pie. In present day — Edward and Winry both in their twenties — was the place where she confided to him about another thing: a human being was inside of her. He was its daddy.

_'Off I go!  
>Where I fall...<em>  
><em>...Is where I land!<em>'

Pushing the glass doors open, Ed entered with a fast strive. He went upstairs and paced down the hall until his golden gaze landed upon the hotel room number _503_. Flipping out the silver key which shun with the same brilliance that reflected his automail, he penetrated the lock and took a precarious step into the room.

Winry's head wasn't facing him, nor was her body. She lied on the bed like she had less than a decade ago, her face buried in the cotton pillow. Her angelic hair spread on the mattress, differing a bit from when she was fifteen — in the sense that it was no longer held in a ponytail. Edward attempted to obtain marshmallow feet, but felt it no use since his presence was already known.

He put on knee on the mattress, and without hesitation, snaked his arms around her waist, pulling her into his chest as his heavy legs wrapped around her. Ed could smell the honey, vanilla, plus a hint of oil and iron, when he dug his nose into her thick head of hair.

In that moment, he murmured something along the lines of, "I won't abandon you," into her ear. The piano back at the chateau prolonged, before fading completely from his mind.

**_F I N_**


End file.
